Bajo Mi Máscara
by jeangreymullinsjr
Summary: 3x4 get together fic. After years apart, best friends meet again and decide to take Duo up on his offer
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I'm happy to announce that this is my first GW fic, so I hope everyone enjoys it! I got the idea for this while I was supposed to be working one day…needless to say that job never got completed, but this first chapter did!! **

**This is a 3x4. If Yaoi isn't your bag, baby, then you might want to stop reading now…..well, you can read the beginning chapters, but once you get closer to the end, you may want to find an early stopping point.**

**This story is in Trowa's POV. I might change POV's every chapter, but haven't decided yet, but I'll let ya'll know beforehand. **

**That being said, my warnings are as follows: (I'm not sure what all of the terminology is, so if someone wants to explain, please do…..like the Japanese terms) Language, violence, death (not of a main character), perhaps a little OOC, eventual lemon/lime (boy on boy….see, there's where I need help with the terms!), and if I've forgotten anything else, I'll mention it before the chapter begins. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own um'. And please don't sue; I value my treasure trove of junk.**

_**Italics **_**are thoughts.**

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Chapter 1:

Walking through the glass doors into WEI was more than a little humbling. There were people dressed in business suits and dresses, adorned with expensive tastes, floating around hurriedly, always with something important pending and a million places to be at once. And there I was; just got off work at the 33rd St. Fire Department and still donning my dingy grey tee with the word 'FIRE' written across the front in big garnet letters, a pair of old, worn jeans with accompanying suspenders dangling to the sides and my Tevas. I think I even still had a little ash across my face and arms from the building we entered this morning.

It was around the time when everyone started faltering in their steps to throw shocked expressions in my direction that I wished I had been able to take a shower before coming. I knew I smelled like smoke and probably sweat. Noticing a lady begin breathing through her mouth when we were crammed into the tight elevator, I made a mental note to up my deodorant to something a little more lasting.

As the doors slid open on the 10th floor, I was immediately shoved out of the way and into the lobby as the sardines poured out in different directions, once again with scattered minds and quick steps. Collecting myself and remembering to breathe, I forced one leg to follow the other as I made my way towards the Receptionist. The girl, who I instantly placed as one of Quatre's many sisters; _Uh…definitely one of the younger ones….something with a 'C' I think….Caitlin?...no, uh, something that sounds like Quatre…Kat….Katrina? I think that's it…duh, just look for a nametag dumbass…_

Smirking a little to myself upon discovering I was right, I looked up at her face and was a little uneasy with the look I was receiving back. There was a mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes and she sported a smirk of her own as she eased over the lip of her desk onto her elbows to expose, oh so subtly, the top of her cleavage, all the while giving me the once, twice, no, three times over.

"Mr. Barton. Well, don't you look like something right out of one of those calendars! You're working at the Fire Station now? What happened to your job with the circus? Not that I didn't love the clown suit. Hey, do you only take jobs where you get to wear those suspenders? They do look rather spectacular on you, but I'm sure you know that already…"

She began to babble and I had to put an end to it.

"I was wondering if I could schedule a meeting with Quatre sometime later today or tomorrow if possible." I knew I was being rude by not supporting her interest in small talk, but I only had so much nerve, and I knew that if I didn't stay focused on my task at hand, I would lose what little I had and bolt.

Blinking into composure, she grudgingly flipped through his appointment book to look for an available slot. My unease returned with the appearance of the same evil smirk from earlier. She now projected it full force at me as I took a step away from the counter. I had a feeling that whatever she was about to tell me was not going to be welcomed.

"Well, it looks like the only time you'd be able to get in and see Quatre would be….right now."

I think my legs had begun walking away of their own accord when I heard her ask where I was I going and didn't I want to see him? Of course I did, but…

"I wasn't ready for this. I mean, I just got off work and haven't had a chance to even clean up yet or change. I mean, there has to be another time slot that you can put me in. Sometime next week even, or the week after. I'm not going anywhere, so whenever you can put me in is fine. He wasn't even expecting me either, so it's no big deal. I can come back later or…"

Great, now I was the one babbling.

She must have noticed my discomfort and nervousness; who wouldn't? Taking full advantage of the situation, I watched in horror as she practically leapt from her seat and began towards the back offices. "It's fine really; not a problem. I'm sure he won't mind a thing. You know Quatre. Stuff like that doesn't bother him in the least. I'll just go tell him you're here. You can wait in one of those chairs over there. Don't run off now! I'm sure he'll be happy to see you again!"

I must have resembled a cornered cat, because that's just what I felt like. With the realization of what had just happened hitting me like a Mack Truck, I could feel my thoughts folding in on themselves. All of my careful planning had been thrown to shit and now, all I was left with was anxiety. To say I was unprepared for this meeting was an understatement of the highest mark. Sure, we had talked numerous times and written occasionally over the years, but we had not seen each other in… _three years, is it? _The questions I had for myself began to pile up.

I swallowed, accepting the situation at hand. Shuffling over to one of the afore mentioned seating, I tried to concentrate on anything but this visit. My wandering gaze fell over the many people fluttering in and out of the offices and down the corridors. No one seemed to ever look up from the papers in their hands. I spotted a few more of the Winner sisters every now and then, but none looked up long enough to notice me, which I'm thankful for. I had only met a few of them before, and if they were all alike, I could go a few more years without meeting the rest of them. Currently, I was watching one of his oldest sisters who talked unstopping into a cellular headset as she paced in her office, hands flying up dramatically at whatever she was describing. However, my attention was soon diverted to the office at the end of the hall. The glass walls allowed anyone who paused long enough to be able to see everything inside, everything including Mr. Quatre Raberba Winner himself. I felt my throat tighten of its own accord and my surroundings seemed to cloud over in a sudden haze. There was something about him that had drastically changed over the years, but still something so familiar. He looked older, _naturally,_ and had lost all of the baby fat that he had once carried. He looked less fragile; something we had teased him about during the wars.

He had grown up.

It wasn't until now that I realized just how much. During the wars, we had already considered ourselves adults seeing as how none of us really ever had a childhood and being thrust into battle at such an early age confirmed our suspicions. Looking at him and how much he had grown was a harsh reminder of how young we really were. But right now was not the time to reflect on those memories.

Katrina had materialized from somewhere behind him, waiting patiently for him to finish the conversation he was having with the two men seated around the conference table. As she reached for his shoulder, I wanted to scream out. _Please don't tell him. Please let him be too busy to see me. Please __don't look at me. _I watched on the edge of my seat as she whispered into his ear. His expression went from a serious, almost pissed look to one of stunned silence. Even from this distance, I could see his blue eyes visibly lighten and begin searching wildly.

He disappeared for a moment before I saw the door to his office fly open. He paused in the doorway, spying me instantly, inhaling sharply, taking me in. He started slowly then broke into a trot, stopping abruptly in front of me, breath hitching. I stood immobile, shielding my emotions behind a familiar stoic mask. It wasn't as if I could command my movements now as it was; I felt my limbs grow heavy under his gaze.

His brows creased together in concentration, as if he were making a study of me; I guess that's what he was doing. Perhaps I had changed as well over the years, although I certainly hadn't noticed anything too dramatic. Maybe I was as different to him as he was to me. He had a look about him that reminded me of a dog sniffing out potential food, curious yet cautious.

Standing this close to him, I could see the tiny laugh lines that had begun to form at the corners of his eyes as well as very faint sun spots sprinkling across his nose, cheeks and forehead.

He must have noticed my scan of him as well; his lips curved into one of his genuine smiles that spread all the way to his eyes when he allowed. If I had any doubt as to if this was really him, that smile alone would have halted suspicions.

We stood, still unspeaking; assessing the differences those three years apart and a drastic life-change had done to each other. I hadn't even realized that he had moved until I felt his arms wrap around my neck and his nose press into my shoulder, breathing me in deeply. It took a moment for me to register exactly what he was doing, but after a few seconds of 'no response', (if it were for any other reason, CPR would have been the next step), I slowly wrapped my own arms around his back, angling to press my head against the side of his, hugging him to myself to confirm that this was really my best friend.

Letting my eyes fall closed, I inhaled his various scents. I was surprised to discover that all of his natural smells issued forth a lot stronger than anything he had added to his body. That was welcomed. Men didn't need to smell like a fruit salad. He was all Quatre, a subtle mix of incense, spices, fresh laundry and his own musk. It was all still so familiar even after our years of absence.

_Speaking of smells…_ I pulled myself away from him, remembering belatedly that the poor boy had his nose jammed into my dirty work shirt. A little embarrassed at my own thoughtlessness, I broke our unspoken bond of silence with the suaveness of Cary Grant by beginning with……"I'm sorry I smell."

Wait, that wasn't what I had wanted to say, and I certainly couldn't imagine Cary Grant saying anything like that.

Obviously amused with my inner turmoil, _damn empathy_, Quatre began to laugh, rather loudly. I turned on him with one of my best glares and all that seemed to encourage was more laughter. Finally, he wound down, sighing "I've missed you Trowa." _Now, THAT I could picture Cary saying…_

"I'm stepping out for a bit Katrina. Put any messages I may receive on my desk, please, and if that Luis fellow calls, forward it to my cell. Thanks. Coming?" He turned back to me, eyes bright and full of questions waiting to be answered. I was pretty sure that his questioning wouldn't end until I had divulged every detail of my life while I had been away. I expected no less a report from him as well.

Nodding my response, I followed him to the elevators and down through the building, never uttering a syllable.

_I'm sorry I smell…_ good grief! That's why I don't usually talk!

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****And that's it for now, folks! Upcoming chapters will be longer. If anyone has any input/advice/suggestions…whatever….please don't hesitate to let me know. READ AND REVIEW! I swear, I'll worship you in a personal reply and mention you at the beginning of the chapters!**

**Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much for the glowing reviews from Chilled Flame, BigSister2, Rainbowkrak, Emmee, and Nishii!!**

**All of the warnings and disclaimers are listed at the beginning of the first chapter.**

**On to the second part!**

**Enjoy!**

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Chapter 2:**

I came to the conclusion that I was one of those people that _thought_ they were making a significant expression of emotion using only the eyes and the muscles in the face, but was in fact, barely doing anything beyond a creased brow. This use to be acceptable, but I was now of the opinion that I should be putting in a little more effort into communicating what I felt, if the look of confusion on Quatre's face was anything to go by.

He used to be a lot better at reading me, but I suppose after so many years apart, this among other things, had faded with disuse. Like, for example, my feelings towards him. During the wars, I thought I was in love with him, but now, I think it was only a crush. He had been my truest friend back then and I think it was the fact that he had never given up on me, let his faith in my being slip, that I had strived so hard to stay by him. He was pure and I was tainted; that was my mentality back then. Now, I know better than to assume something so ignorant. Quatre was as tainted as the rest of us, he just cleaned up better.

He sat there in front of me sipping his tea and watching the pedestrians as they walked past our little table. He had chosen to come to a deli that one of his sisters had told him about. It had a very calming atmosphere, even in the midst of the busy city. Quatre leaned back in the wrought iron chair and sighed, apparently at ease with the silence that had fallen on our conversation. Maybe he was just content to sit here with me rather than try to fill the air with clichéd questions and my solemn nods, but that could just be my wishful thinking. In my opinion, it was more meaningful to just be near each other, no words needed.

Watching him, I tried to imagine my place in his life, and I couldn't. Watching Quatre…just watching him, was something I had been doing for a very long time. I had always felt like a child at Christmas gazing in through the toy store window at the most spectacular display, but knowing that I had to ration my savings for things more important that my wants.

He must have sensed my eyes on him because he turned slightly in his seat and smiled at me. My stomach fell. He was still the most spectacular display. I had forgotten this somehow during the past three years.

"Where are you staying?" He brought his lips once again to the rim of the porcelain and stared at me as he drank.

"I was able to find a small condo a couple of blocks away from the station. 'The Willows'."

"That's funny. I don't remember seeing anything green in this city." He said this a little aggressively.

"No. I mailed some pictures of it to Catherine. She said I should've found myself something more towards the edge of town; that everything looked too 'man-made'."

"Well, I heartily agree with her." He put his cup down, as well as the front legs of his chair, as he leaned closer to the table; his elbows coming to rest thereon and his hands clasping together under his nose. When he spoke, he quickly exposed his mouth from behind his hands and then replaced them as soon as he finished. I was almost more caught up with catching these little habits than actually listening to the question.

"What made you leave the Circus, Trowa?"

I almost wished I had missed the question.

"Lots of reasons." And we left it at that.

Quatre sighed and leaned back in his chair giving me a look that made me think he was weighing his options, coming to a conclusion, and storing away further questions for a later interrogation. Almost as soon as this thought had died away, something else, a little unsettling, had flashed across his face; a jogging of the memory, then a sly smirk, then an 'I know something you don't', as he slightly turned his head and stuck his nose up.

"I spoke with Duo the other day."

At my lack of response, he continued. "He's got it in his head that we all need to have some sort of reunion and lock ourselves away in the middle of nowhere and do that whole 'bonding' thing sometime soon."

Yup, that sounded like something Duo would come up with.

"He says Heero's against the idea; says that if anyone wanted to reunite, then it would have happened by now. Yet, here you are, so I think Duo may not have been too far from the mark. He also said that he hadn't been able to reach you or Wufei."

I wasn't ready for this either. "When was he planning this for?" I threw in cautiously. I wanted more time to think about this.

"I think he wanted to try for a few months from now, but Wufei still hasn't contacted him to ask, so I'm not really sure when it will be." He sighed, "I don't know. I told him to let me think about it. I don't know if I'm really ready to meet up with everyone again. It just seems like it would dredge up too many memories. What do you think?"

All I could do was nod. It always amazed me how Quatre and I could draw such similar conclusions. Then he did the most glorious thing to make my day of stress worth every last drop of sweat. He gave me a smile that I had never seen before, in anyone. It _started_ with his eyes, the blue pigments catching the late afternoon sun and faintly lightening them, the pupils dilating slightly, as it slowly worked itself down the planes of his face before gathering the corners of his generous mouth into a tight curl. Then that mouth opened to recite what I only imagined would be easily read across my face.

"The only reunion I was ever fully interested in is right here with my best friend. I've missed you so much, Trowa. Why did you stay away so long?"

I watched his eyes dart right to left, searching my own for any sign of emotion or any kind of answer. He was trying so hard to read my expressions. I almost took pity on him. _Almost. _

"Lots of reasons."

I saw that glorious smile falter for the briefest moment and then replace itself with one a little less genuine and I mentally slapped myself for my cruelty. _Why is it so hard to explain myself?_

"That seems to be your answer for a lot of things these days. You don't have to put up a front with me, Trowa." He sat back once more in the wrought iron seat and turned his attention to the waitress bringing us our check.

"I'm sorry Quatre." I stated simply as the waitress; _I didn't catch her name_, walked away with our credit cards. And I _was_ sorry. Not particularly for withholding the requested information from him, but for the fact that he almost looked sad that I wouldn't tell him; that he might think that I didn't trust him with something so personal, when in reality, he was one of the only people I trusted, period.

"No matter. I shall winkle it out of you sooner or later." He announced confidently, raising his right hip slightly to put his wallet away in his back pocket. Apparently, the waitress had returned our cards already, so I followed his example.

I let a small smile escape me as I thought about Quatre trying to interrogate anyone, but then rebuked myself. Quatre could be a spitfire when the need arose and one damn scary pilot. He probably killed just as many people as I had during the wars, with only his remorse to separate us. I steered my thoughts away from that at the moment. No need to focus on the past right now.

I watched him stand, arms stretching behind his head from sitting for so long, the primly ironed bottom of his shirt threatening to reveal the rest of itself from under his belt. My fingers began a restless tapping on the table as I realized my want to tug his shirt out from under his waistband. _What is that about?_

_What am I supposed to do now? Just a simple 'Goodbye Quatre', and walk away for another couple of years? _Somehow I didn't think that I would be able to do that, nor did I think that he would let me. So I stood, easily masking my thoughts behind a plain veneer, letting my mouth fall open to say something_, _but whatever I was about to say was lost the instant he grabbed my hand. I felt my whole body react: my back stiffen, my palms clammy, my pupils dilate, my breathing quicken; all signs of stress. No, Quatre's contact did _not_ have a comforting effect; rather the opposite. I was suddenly aware of everyone around us. _What do they think of this? They're going to think we're gay! How can he look so casual about this? Isn't he aware of what this looks like?_ And when did I get so concerned with what other people thought of me? My mind screamed that above all else, _this is drawing attention_, unneeded attention, and attention drew possible threats. I scanned the streets for anything out of place, and then had to remind myself that the wars were over. Drawing my focus back to the situation at hand, I noticed that Quatre was watching me with a peculiar expression; something of a mix between confusion, concern and understanding, although I don't think he quite understood at all; my palms were sweaty and I think I was hyperventilating.

I tried to wrench my hand away from his grasp, but he wouldn't let me. Instead, he switched my hand to his other and grabbed my elbow, ushering me down the sidewalk. I think this arrangement was even worse.

When we were a bit closer to his offices he released my elbow and switched my hand back to his right one, leaning up as if to whisper a secret. I was very conscious of the fact that the back of my neck was wet and that in all this time I still had not been allowed to shower. Therefore, when he brought his face closer to my ear I had to resist the urge to push him back.

"It's alright Trowa. I still get a little anxious around large crowds, too."

I almost laughed. _Almost. _I think I might have if my body hadn't been experiencing a cardiac arrest from the sensation of his breath against my sweaty neck. Yes, he had absolutely no idea. So much for his empathy.

He looked up at me when he had both feet planted firmly on the ground once more, and ran a 'soothing' hand up and down my forearm, offering a small smile.

"Tell you what, why don't you come and have dinner with me tonight? I'm not going to let you get away so easily, and I want to talk to you some more. No more of this 'lots of reasons' bit. I want you to talk to me again, Trowa. Trust me. I'm still the same me. Nothing's changed beyond the fact that times are more peaceful. Ok? Here's my business card with my cell on it. Give me a call later. I'll see you in a bit."

I blinked and he was gone.

I think I stood there for about five minutes before coming to the realization that I was free to go home and shower, so I started moving back the way we had come. It took me a bit to reach my unit, about thirty-five minutes or so of walking, or maybe it just seemed so long because my brain was trying to process too much at once. I was in the city. I was no longer a clown. I had left behind everything I knew to come here. Why? Lots of reasons. I was now a part-time fire fighter at the 33rd St. Fire Department. Why? It seemed more dangerous than being a cop, and Katrina was right, I _did _like wearing suspenders. Plus, there was no circus in town, so donning my tangible mask and baggy pants was out of the question.

_Lots of reasons_. I knew one of them was the fact that I wanted a change; that the monotony of my life with Catherine and the Circus was wearing on my nerves and I felt that I needed to walk away, at least for a little while, until I could accept my role as a static member of that lifestyle. But I wanted a change so desperately. I think another part of it was that I missed him, if I were being perfectly honest with myself, and our closeness that we used to share during the wars. I missed being able to confide in someone. Catherine never really understood me, even though she tried so hard to. And I _do_ love her, but I needed to go where I was understood, not fretted over. Heero and Duo would have been my closest option, but I never really bonded as well with them as I had with Quatre. He kind of weaseled his way into my confidence.

There were other reasons, I was sure of it, but they failed to seem important enough to encourage something so drastic.

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I stepped under the water. There was nothing so refreshing as a shower after a long day. I placed my palm against the cold tile wall and braced myself against it, letting my head fall under the spray; my bangs fell forward to shield my eyes from the water.

I scrubbed all of the day's concerns away with harsh wrist strokes and the blue bath poof that I had found in my bag after moving in. I scratched my nails through my scalp to dissolve any product residue that may have lingered. I felt like I had a layer of oil over my skin and that I still smelled of smoke, although I guess that's what I signed up for. So I scrubbed harder, until all I could feel was an uncomfortably raw ache and a slight tingling sensation that wouldn't leave my left arm from about the elbow down.

It took me an hour to fall asleep, and when I did, all I could dream about was Catherine's expectations of me, all listed in her neat script and stashed underneath my mattress.

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That's it for Chapter 2. Please stay tuned for the next installment coming soon. As always, please

**READ & REVIEW ****and let me know your thoughts. Thanks! **


	3. Chapter 3

**OK! First off, I'd like to apologize for how incredibly long it took for me to put this out there! (It's been since JUNE!!!) I admit the new semester of college might have had something to do with it…**

**Next order of business: I'd like to send a big THANK YOU to everyone who has either left reviews or added this to their alert lists. Those people include BigSister2, ChilledFlame, spider-jen, jess-eklom, Dantelle-noir, Validor, Jacno, Hobo lady, Sekari Sumeragi, Kitamea, Tokipie, silvershadow, jediksten, Memeal, Akana Dragon… and to the many who have at least read the damn thing. And, of course to Rainbowkrak; Love you poo-poo-moo-moo-love-cow!**

**Thirdly, this chapter is dedicated to my dear friend Jacno, who was the inspiration behind the new guest character that many of you may hate by the end of this chapter…heh heh… tell me what you think when you READ & REVIEW! ******

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Chapter 3:

I thought over the plan, taking two stairs at a time: we ride together, we eat dinner, we keep a casual correspondence over the next few years or so and maybe meet for coffee every other six months.

Beautiful.

I almost missed the doorbell; my hands were shaking like mad. I _just_ saw him! I need to get a hold of myself. It's only dinner and then… we fade back into our normal routines, forsaking all else but moving from day to day.

My plan is beautiful.

It should be any minute now, so I feign blasé and lean against the opposite wall from his door. I pick up some movement from the other side and briefly consider leaving, but I think that would only have worked had I not already rung the bell.

I heard the slight creak of the floorboards under his weight as the door swung open to reveal the master of the house with a cellular phone attached to his ear and the layers of his business formal still outfitting his work-weary frame. A finger was held up in my direction and an apologetic depth of blue followed, offering a tight smile and a flick of the wrist to usher me indoors.

"They wanted to meet at four, so I'd give it maybe two hours max. No, I still have to go over that. Of course I do, Naya. They mean the world to me, you know that. _Alright! _I'll see what I can arrange. No, please don't start on that again."

I had heard it before. Granted, my one sibling couldn't compare to his twenty-nine, but the arguments sounded vaguely familiar. I listened to him as far as the next room he entered and then decided to look around while I wait.

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This definitely wasn't what I was expecting. Then again, I'm not quite sure what I was expecting. I suppose I could have predicted this. It wasn't Quatre. Not one bit. It was more like what Quatre's home _should_ have looked like to an outsider, if that makes any sense. It was all sharp lines, light colors and clean, _spotlessly clean,_ almost to the point of sterility; nothing out of its predetermined place. I knew for a fact that Quatre was a messy person. _This_ was something out of a magazine.

My thoughts paused briefly as I felt the warmth of a hand on my shoulder, slightly turning me. I watched, transfixed, as his long fingers began working over his face to correct the headache that had already formed; thumbs splaying over his eyelids to collect at the bridge of his nose where they massaged circularly. This little motion had me so entranced that I almost missed the accompanying words.

"I'm so sorry to make you wait like this, Trowa. I'm going to take a quick shower. It won't take me long, so just make yourself comfortable. Please help yourself to anything you'd like; the remote's over there if you want to watch TV, there's wine in the cooler…"

He trailed off with my nod of understanding. He looked up at me then; all the stress of his young life showing clearly in his eyes as he submitted a tired smile and turned towards the back rooms.

* * *

I wish I could explain how I ended up in his bed. The rich, vibrant tones of red, brown and gold that accented this room was what had first drawn me. The silken pillows and cushions tossed across Middle Eastern patterned rugs along with an occasional pair of socks or belt was what led me to believe that this was his personal bedroom. _This _was all Quatre. Warm. Inviting. Comfortable.

There was a large, four-poster bed in the center of the wall made from solid oak, stained in a deep Mahogany. The headboard was intricately carved, weaving a story of some long ago tale that I'm sure Quatre knew by heart; shamanistic creatures with trunks and rows of men walking single file only to be led to the center where a deity of some sort was kneeling in prayer. It confused me, but what confused me more was why I was still sitting here staring at it. I could hear the water running in the adjoining Jack & Jill and decided I still had a few more moments.

The bay windows were covered by panels of thin, but rich fabric that gently swayed in the breeze caused by the circulating fan Quatre must have turned on. There was a slight hint of his incense in the air and the closer I leaned to the bed, the stronger I could smell the subtle musk of his body in between the sheets. I couldn't help myself. Hearing the shower still on, I lowered my face to his pillow, inhaling the mixture of scalp and sweat and a light, earthy shampoo. With each passing moment, I could imagine each scent growing stronger till I could see him lying there, restless and writhing.

There was no describing the speed with which allowed my hasty exodus of his quarters as soon as the faucets made their journey rightward and all that could be heard from the bathroom was the soft pang of the glass door opening and the slowing drip of the shower head.

* * *

Surprisingly, cartoons do nothing to ebb arousals.

My venture into his quarters had made its effect known in that I was now hugging one of his expensive couch cushions in a death grip. Once my olfactory sense had been activated by his lingering trail on the bed linens, there was no end to the mental barrage of images adhering themselves to the backs of my eyelids: Quatre showering, Quatre blushing, Quatre spread like a feast before me…

Sighing, I changed the channel.

Quatre chose this moment to exit his room in scarce more than a towel; still dripping and flushed from the hot shower.

_Oh Dear Lord….Why me?_

He had a towel draped over his head while he adjusted the watch on his wrist. While switching back to rubbing his hair, he threw me an amused smirk from under the terrycloth. "Nice, isn't it? You like it?"

_Yes, you look very nice like that. I like it a lot, actually. _Damnit! I need to control that.

I chose to go with the neutral, "Pardon?" I felt the slight twitch of the nerve under my eye.

"My new television! I told the girls not to, but they said I needed something to fill the big empty space on my wall. I rather like it, but I haven't had too much time to myself lately to actually use it. Pity, it just hangs there."

As he continued, somewhat bent at the waist, to wring his locks dry, I observed him; couldn't take my eyes away really.

He was perfect in an imperfect way. His skin, while still flushed and succulent from the hot water, was certainly flawed; the little reminders of wounds received were scattered across his sides and back. I had more, but that wasn't something one should be proud of.

He was exquisitely toned, from his arms and chest, to the flat planes of his stomach and tapering off somewhere below the line of his towel, a far cry from our years spent during the war. Back then, he had always appeared so young, having retained his slight preadolescent corpulence even during war times. This body before me was the body of a man no longer a child, as I realize that's what we really were back then. No, this body was strong, purposeful, wound tightly with the stress-filled threads of the company he had carried on his back for over three years now, and he was absolutely beautiful.

He began to move, leaving the room towards the kitchen while muttering something I didn't catch. Instead, my eyes attached themselves to the base of his neck, following the curve of his spine to where it puddled to form his lower back; the hint of his pert ass outlined in terrycloth, stirring me into movement.

I was behind him in an instant. I really don't know what I was intending on doing once I reached him, well, I had a few ideas of what I had wanted to do, but hearing the rattle of china and seeing the surprise flash in his eyes was enough to allow my self-control a chance to reestablish dominance.

"Oh! Trowa, I was just bringing this out to you." He shakingly offered the cup of tea; the saucer's width, a rough estimate to the distance between us. All I could manage was a tight nod as I moved to let him pass. _What was I thinking? What was I about to do? Assault my best friend in the middle of his kitchen? HIS kitchen?_ Well, I guess I'd be lying to myself if I claimed I wasn't interested in men; this man, if you wanted to go into specifics.

Plastering on a practiced smile, he cleared his throat and turned back towards the stove top. "Well, I really am sorry about all this. I had hoped to be ready by the time you arrived, but it seems Allah had other plans for me today. Let me go put some clothes on and I should be right out. Think about where you'd like to eat." And he was gone with a pretty flush staining his cheeks from what I could only assume would be the kettle steam.

Wait….he didn't pick up on any of that, did he? _Damnit! Fucking empathy!_

* * *

Needless to say, I was miserable the entire way to the restaurant. It seemed that no matter how I tried to reposition or however much I shifted, there was just no way to get comfortable without exposing…..certain things…..I didn't want Quatre to notice. It is maddening to realize that by merely his presence, he can invoke this sort of reaction from me.

In the end, Quatre had chosen a modest little Italian bistro on the outskirts of town. It seemed like a relatively innocent restaurant, but little had I known then that the wait staff would provide the answer to my problem.

They were blue. No, mostly blue, with flecks of gray clouding them; crystalline shards of amber scattered randomly; everything and nothing like Quatre's. I caught a coy glance from that unstrained blue over Quatre's head as we were ushered to our seats. His name was Adam. I read it on his apron.

"Are you alright, Trowa? You seem very uncomfortable about something. We can go to another restaurant if you prefer." Quatre's breath was warm and heavy on the back of my neck.

How do I tell him that it was because of him that I was uncomfortable, and that the hand he was using to rub circles on my lower back wasn't helping either? But Lord help me, I could feel every one of his fingertips clearly as they pressed through my shirt.

Carefully schooling my inner struggle to an outward expression of calm, I turned to him and nodded, "I'm fine Quatre." The concern in his eyes was evident, yet he smiled all the same.

"Your seats are right here, gentlemen. My name is Adam. What drinks can I get you started on?"

As Quatre began, I noticed the slight once over Adam was giving the both of us and felt the bile rise in my throat as his soft, seeking gaze lingered at the seat of my pants for the briefest moment. His lips curled in a knowing smirk; a little too pleased with his information, and rose from his kneeling position at our table. "I'll have your order right out for you both."

I watched the lean lines of his retreating form as he made his way towards the kitchens; definitely skinny, but with an underlying message of strength; dirty blonde and just my type. However, I was now, somewhat, working on a new project. Well, an old project really, that seemed to have fallen in my lap once more, and how could I say no to that? This was my best friend. This was my secret; although I'm sure Catherine had her suspicions.

He was looking at me now, and somewhere in the back of my mind I'm pondering the idea of why it didn't irk me that he had taken it upon himself to order for the both of us.

With our meal being ordered, Quatre settled back into his seat, preparing for a long query into my recent decisions; arms crossed, his disquiet showing clearly in the set of his brows, an attempt at a comforting smile playing at his lips. It was obvious that he was waiting on me to begin, and in my current physical state I wasn't in the mood to humor him. I couldn't sit like this for the entire meal, so I panicked; got up from the table, excusing myself in the briefest manner and took off for the bathroom. I vaguely remember running into our waiter on the way there, catching his eyes in acknowledgement of his presence, and then looking away in embarrassment when I noticed him clearly checking out my current predicament. Is there a glowing red arrow above my head? I feel like there is. How was I supposed to finish off my quiet evening now, with the patron's looks of disgust? Thankfully, the bathroom was a single. I barely waited for the click of the door shutting before I began, so lost then that I didn't register the second and third click of the door opening and then shutting again.

* * *

I saw his eyes. I _saw_ them. Clear blue, the color of shallow waters off an exotic coast; looking through me, sensing me, taking care of me. _Quatre. _Warmth; everything that's warm and comfortable and safe. _Home._

Somewhere, my mind registered the cold tiles I placed my hand against to steady myself, my heart rate quicken, and a slight sheen of sweat begin to form above my lip and at my temples. I looked down into his eyes as he took me into his mouth. Those eyes, no matter how much I twisted reality, were not Quatre's. The blue skies over the serene waters of my vision clouded in a sudden storm of gray flecked with shards of amber. Quatre's face grew longer, his hair slightly darker, his skin tanner, his lips thinner.

"_Nnnhh_…" It wouldn't be much longer now. I can feel my body tightening, concentrating distally in response to his talented, practiced actions as I rock into his mouth, savoring the heat at the back of his throat and the small vibrations his moaning produced.

One of his hands had snaked its way under my shirt and was now toying with my chest as I found my own fingers fisted in his thick, messy hair.

All it took was the memory of one single drop. A drop of water sliding down his stomach, a shiny trail in its wake; falling, but only to be absorbed in the cloth of the towel about his waist as he wrung his hair dry.

"_Ahhhnnn….ya_.." His finger nails dug deliciously into my hips, holding them still while I found my release, pouring my hours of restraint down his throat.

* * *

"Uhh..thanks." Man, that sounded intelligent. That wasn't me. Period. This isn't me standing here: locking my knees, softening and still hanging out of my pants, sweaty, physically satisfied yet more mentally unhinged than I was when I came in here. What the fuck just happened?

"Looked like you could use a hand."

_A hand wasn't what you used. _

How could I not stop to lock the door behind me?

He turned towards me then from his position at the sink, swiping a casual hand through his dirty blonde locks and bringing his thumb down to sweep across the corner of his mouth. "You better get back to your friend there. He probably thinks you've fallen in by now."

I revel in the slight breeze produced by the swinging of the door as Adam leaves, sliding down the wall to catch my breath and balance the things running through my head.

A soft knocking and a familiar voice at the door brings my anxiety spiraling back and I rise, only putting myself away at the last moment. Then he was there; warm fingers wiping the sweat from my cheeks, gauging my temperature, pushing me backwards till I could feel the cold porcelain against the backs of my thighs through the thin fabric of my dress pants. Then he was pressing a cool, wet napkin to my forehead, letting it trail its way down the side of my face, over my jaw and around to the back of my neck and for once, his touch was the most soothing thing. He brought his fingers to my forehead once more, but used them to slick my bangs back to look into both of my eyes at once; I know that's what he was doing; reading me.

Looking down in shame at what must be clearly written across my face, I was surprised to feel his forehead suddenly rest against mine.

"Oh Trowa," he breathed, and I could smell Zinfandel on his lips; Lord help me, he was so close. "Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling good?"

He stepped back a bit; the expression in his eyes just then, something I couldn't even form words to put a name to, but never had I wanted to kiss him more.

"Come on Trowa, let's see if we can get our order to go, shall we?" and he was leading me by the hand like a lost child from the bathroom, scratch that, like Catherine used to lead me around the circus when I had amnesia; one step at a time.

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That's all for right now folks! Tell me what you think by Reading & Reviewing! Please? I love you all and I absolutely PROMISE that the next one will be out WAY sooner than this last one! And for all the fans of 'Meeting Lorna Dane,' I haven't forgotten about you either! I'll be updating that shortly as well!

**Love you guys! Review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Again, a thousand apologies for being so late with this… I'm sure the majority of you completely forgot what this story was even about; it's been so late. ****L**** Sorry!!! And hello all! First things first: ****BIG**** thanks to all who have reviewed the last chapter: AngelMason, Sekari Sumeragi, MarieMaea, BigSister2, jess-eklom, Dentelle-noir, G, an anonymous reviewer, LeTempest, blueskyshymoon08, Ahlmal, and ChChChTsk. Special thanks to AngelMason for keeping me on my toes; I really needed it! With that said, please enjoy! **

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**Chapter 4:**

Have you ever had one of those moments where you _think_ you've gotten up to answer the phone, as it's ringing at six am on your day off, but woken up to your hand pressed against your face, answering a still-ringing noise? Its instances such as this that make me wish I were an only child.

"What?" I groaned out into the receiver. She always finds a way to disturb me whenever I'm taking an ease.

"I love how eloquent you are in the morning, Trowa. Are you getting ready for work now?"

… As if she didn't know.

"Day off." I wasn't in the mood to form full sentences.

"Oh really? Well now, you'll have time to tell me all about what's new with you; how you're meeting with Quatre went…"

I'm sure she was probably still talking, however my mind seemed to freeze at the mention of his name.

Last night…

Last night was a bad dream.

Simple things, really. They were casual touches; leading me through my apartment door, helping me to the couch, rubbing my back or a cool rag against my forehead, but they were so 'Quatre,' so… just the way he is, that it almost makes me sick to think of it. He had absolutely no idea of what I had stooped to, and yet it was his hands guiding me to lie down and his voice commanding my eyes to close. He had tucked me in and I betrayed him… somehow… at least, I had betrayed the idea of what I had wanted to create; what I still want to create.

"Are you still there? Hello?" _Damn, that's right…_

"Yeah, I'm here. What were you saying?"

"Ugh, give me an update, Trowa! What have I been talking about for the past five minutes?"

"I'm sorry, Catherine. The crew at the Station are all really nice. I've only just started working there, so there hasn't been much time to… get a feel of the place. I can tell you though that the whole system of alerting us could be much faster. When I go in tomorrow, I plan to speak with the Ch…"

"Oh Trowa, that's all you ever talk about: the security is faulty, the cameras are out of date, the system could be faster… You might as well be talking French. Why don't you ever tell me about… oh, I don't know, your love life? Or are you too shy to talk to your sister about that? Oh, I know, why don't you start with if there are any cute… people… at your complex?"

People… she tries to be so delicate with me. You make one little "what if" joke with her and suddenly…

"I wouldn't know. I haven't seen very many of the other tenants here."

"You should make more of an effort, Trowa. Even being as handsome as you are, brother dear, people aren't always just going to walk up to you. You know what I think?"

_Here we go…_

"I think that since the Station is only a part-time thing, you should maybe find some sort of volunteer job that looks interesting, you know, that way you can get out there and socialize a bit more."

My sister's solution for everything: socialization.

"I think I do plenty. Besides, Cutie's all the woman I need…"

"Trowa, animals do not count! Look, I'll talk to you later. My boss is on the other line. Love you!"

_Click_

Talking with my sister always puts me in a weird mood; I have no idea why. I get into these odd, contemplative dispositions where all I can think of is what my next move in life will be. I feel confident that my relocation here was in my best interest, but I think the road to that ultimate fulfillment of estimation might be a harder course than reckoned. Even now, she has me second guessing my free-time; if I could be doing more, should be doing more. I suppose, in a way, having a sister who challenges me to better myself is a plus, even if her idea of betterment is getting laid.

Another annoying result of my sister's prying: I can never go back to sleep. Now that she has my mind working overtime, I can't manage to get my thoughts back to drifting through the oblivion of dreamland. Cutie's not helping either; noticing my awakened state, she promptly bounds from the bed she's made in my pile of clean clothes and onto my stomach demanding food.

_Time to get up, _she tells me.

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Water is a great way to start your morning. Not only does it replenish your body; hydrate you, but when served cold, it can be one hell of a' wake-up call! Quickly adjusting the knob to add a little more hot, I step back under the spray. This is where I do my stretching, and although some may find it dangerous to stretch in the shower, I find that with every crack of my vertebrae, the water refreshes what little soreness there may be. The shower is also a good place to think.

Por ejemplo, if I even began to unload all of the things swimming through my cerebrum at this precise moment in time, it would just be giving money to Psychiatrists, which is something I don't believe in. Sin embargo, there are a few key talking points that I'd be willing to divulge. First being my annoying knack for falling into situations that I never would consciously place myself in. This can be exhibited by my performance last night. Never in my life would I have knowingly solicited oral sex in a public bathroom, at the hands of no less than a complete stranger. I don't think I could even say now that I would never do it again, because I never thought I'd ever have done that in the first place. Who knows, if I can't even predict my own behavior? Even in retrospect, I cannot conclude anything of a "live and learn" lesson.

Secondly, something needs to be done for Quatre. I'm not quite sure what he thinks of me now, but somehow I need to apologize for my coldness towards him as of late. Why can't I just talk to him, answer his questions, let him in? Even I think this is getting ridiculous. I don't have an explanation for why I get that way around him. I have considered seeking an exorcist.

And thirdly, …….. Has my cat been watching me shower this entire time?!?

* * *

Coffee in the morning has become a necessity and my way of conforming to ritualistic American culture. At all costs, I must blend in. There's a swanky little café just down the block; a convenient four minute walk for a mocha and today's paper.

It was while reaching for said newspaper, that a glaring tabloid cover caught my eye. It had all the usual who's who of celebrity affairs, and bright, bold print announcing which of those 'who's' were having an affair, expecting a child, struggling with an overdose…. and amidst all of those ugly people, Quatre walked hand in hand down a street in the far left corner of the cover…. with a man. The font below the caption alluded to the idea that the "QUEER CEO of WEI" was "GAY."

With on the slightest hint of self consciousness, I snatched the paper from the rack and thrust it under the nose of the attendant for purchase. _There has to be some mistake… Is that really Quatre?!?_

I don't think I looked up once throughout the walk back to my apartment, suddenly finding myself at my door with my keys in my hand. In that time, I'd read the entire article about three times to soak in every detail: Quatre was seen holding the hand of some assistant at WEI early one morning and was now assumed gay by the general public… _this is ridiculous!_ _I wonder if this was photoshoped… certainly looks authentic…but it really just looks like he's pulling him down the street… I don't believe this for a minute!_

Throwing the article onto the table, I had new fodder to toss over in my head. This couldn't possibly be true! They just didn't understand who Quatre was. He was just a really nice, affectionate person. End of story.

Of course, this brought about a whole new case of worries: what was this doing to Quatre? His position at WEI? His reputation? His family? His plans? His sanity?

_I should probably call him…_

Before I had even reached my phone, which was still lying on my nightstand, I registered the unfamiliar noise of someone buzzing me. _Now, isn't that curious…_ I was instantly on my guard.

I found the remote to my security system instantly and flicked on the monitor to see who was trying to get into my apartment. I frankly didn't trust the regular system that they had installed here, so I had setup one of my own; three camera angles surrounding the very front of the apartment complex and five angles around my particular door, four at the back entrance of the apartments, as well as two outside each window and fire escape and two down each hallway to the building. My improvements have gone unnoticed by residents and management alike; not that any untrained civilians would spot their locations anyway. The monitors, I had inlaid into the wall by the front door and a set in the bedroom as well, unoriginally, yet cleverly hidden behind some bland, hotel-style painting that's neutral enough to not draw attention.

"Yes?" I called down even as I switched over monitor screens to the one exposing the front entrance. There was no one standing there.

I reached for the gun I had stashed near the door and quickly scanned through all of the other monitor screens. Primed and waiting, I paused back at the screen to the front entrance when I noticed a hand coming from the bottom right corner of the screen aiming for the call button; finger foremost. It pushed the button.

"You missed a spot."

_Leave it to Quatre to find a weak point in my security system…_

He stood then; an amused smirk playing about his lips as his blonde head appeared in three different camera angles. I was certainly surprised to note the sleepless look in his eyes and how his smirk had fallen into a more sedated curve of his mouth. His tie had been undone and his jacket was slung over one arm; the one holding his briefcase. I didn't hesitate buzzing him up and stood in my doorway, waiting for the elevator doors to ping open and release him to me.

The smile that met me was almost despondent and lacked any real energy. He appeared a bit flushed, as if he'd walked all the way here from work. He gave me a tired pat on the shoulder as he walked past me into my apartment.

Closing the door behind us and switching off the monitors, I was at a loss of where to start… so I simply watched him as he made himself familiar with my kitchen.

_I need to go grocery shopping… _

"May I?" He looked back at me questioningly as he opened the cabinet containing my boxes of tea. I nodded once and took a place at the small table in the kitchen, just watching him as he busied himself with his preparations.

"Would you like some as well?" I nodded once more. It seems I had forgotten all about my coffee this morning when I had seen the… _shit_. It's sitting on the table right in front of me…

"How did you sleep last night? You closed your eyes almost immediately when I made you lie down. I can't for the life of me think what could have made you so sick! Did you eat something bad earlier in the day? You must have, otherwise I can't explain it. I was really quite worried about you; you looked so wan." I barely remember any of what happened last night, post-restaurant fiasco. Only simple things, like the tone of voice he used to try and soothe me: deep and light at once, the cologne he wore that evening as he bent over me to strap me into his car: something rich and almost sweet, the feel of his hand as he rested it upon my damp forehead for a temperature reading…

The strong scent of fragrant elderberries and zesty lemons reached me as the leaves ignited upon first contact with the boiling water. I watched his hands as he reached for the honey on the counter; the lean fingers strategically placing themselves so as not to touch the bit that had dribbled down the side from the last time I used it. His attempts were futile… as they always were when you try to avoid getting honey on yourself. I forced myself to look away as he brought that finger to his mouth absently, more focused on putting the kettle back.

"I suppose I was pretty tired after last night. I'm sorry to have worried you and I really appreciate you helping me back home." I made the mistake of catching his gaze. I'm always at a loss when he appears so intently sincere…

"You are no bother to me, Trowa," he says in a soft, meaningful tone. "I'm just glad you're feeling better now. You've certainly gained much of your color…" He paused, and I knew exactly why.

He stared at the article he was about to place my mug on top of and instead placed it to the side. He seemed completely surprised and almost disbelieving as he ran a finger over his picture. I sat there motionless, reminiscent of my days lying in wait for the right moment to attack, breathing low.

"They said they wouldn't print this…," he began. _So he knows about it._ "We just paid this company thousands to NOT print this!" His shock wore into anger as his voice raised a few octaves. "Well… this cements it. I'm truly ruined, and for what; an illegitimate claim? I can't believe this has happened... what am I going to do now?... I should probably call someone about this," he said even as he flipped open his cell; "pardon me, Trowa."

I could do nothing except sit and wait while he stepped politely into the hallway to speak. I couldn't help but admire him all the more for retaining his manners even in the face of such personal crisis. I wasn't quite sure of the details of what exactly this personal crisis was, but I was determined to find an understanding soon for the sake of his mental health.

He never raised his voice beyond the fervent whispers of one who's spent their life concealing their day to day intimacies out of necessity. He's lived, bearing the weight others have placed upon him, in addition to the responsibilities he's placed on his own shoulders, and together the load is considerable. I'm drawn to the thought that Quatre's issues are like an iceberg: only the tip of his burden shows; the bulk lies concealed under the calm and collected surface. I'm determined to have myself a swim sometime.

"I truly apologize for that, Trowa. I didn't mean to be so rude to you: storming out like that." It was stated in fashion that seemed robotic, yet I knew he was sincere. That he would describe pardoning himself to go use the phone, and then doing so, as "storming out" was almost amusing. _Almost…_

"Trowa," he began resolutely; a formal mask usually reserved for business deals was carefully lowered over his beautiful features and I could provide nothing for our meeting beyond my undivided attention. "I have something I want you to know." He faltered as if not knowing where to begin. "The stories are true… they're true about me; what these people write in their gossip columns. And now, I'm in danger of losing everything I hold dearly: my friends, my family, my business, everything I've worked for… it's all falling down around me because of a stupid photo that, while taken out of context, was enough to expose the suspicions… What am I to do, Trowa? Or do you think me a monster as well?" The mask was shattered and a face emerged straight out of my memories of the war… he was scared. He was but a child reaching for a hand or a comforting word. How could he ever think he was a monster?

My face must have shown my shock because when I came back from my thoughts he was already out the door.

"Quatre!" I few after him, "wait!"

He paused in the elevator, holding a gentle hand, fingers splayed, against the doors. I had to strain to hear him; my feet remaining immobile of their own accord. His words came to me on auto-pilot, sounding reticent; I'm a nameless press-member at one of his conferences.

"I sincerely apologize, Trowa, if I've offended you. I want you to be secure in the knowledge that any closeness we've shared over the years was not a reflection on my particular leanings, but instead a measure of necessity in times of war and in the name of camaraderie in the years following. I thank you for sparing me any verbal admonishments, for I've had quite my share of those this morning. Good day, Trowa."

And he was gone. I watched in disbelief as each floor was lit in descending order.

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**Por ejemplo= For example**

**Sin embargo= However  
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**That's all for now! I've already started writing the next one, since the outlines for the next three chapters have already been made, so the next one should be out soon! And by soon, I really don't mean a year from now, cause that would just be depressing to me. Please READ AND REVIEW!!! I love feedback from everyone, even if it's just to say you didn't like it!!! ** **Thank you all!!! **


	5. Chapter 5

**Big thanks to all of you who have reviewed and/or added this to your fav's list! I know this has been a long time coming and most of you have probably forgotten all about this story, but I hope you find this latest installment up to par. This story is far from over and I hope you'll stick with me. Thanks.**

**Chapter 5:**

I know it's wrong.

You don't have to tell me.

I should have followed him, called him, found him, stopped him; made him listen to me, believe me, trust me. I should have opened my mouth and explained to him that no matter what, he could count on me; that I'd always stand by him… but in the end, I hadn't done any of those things; hadn't lifted a finger. I'd let him leave; never submitting a single word of comfort.

My best friend; and I could offer him nothing but my silence and my indifference, letting him leave with a world of false impressions of me and never correcting him.

Why, you ask? Lots of reasons;… none of them good enough; none of them worth not easing his worries and fears with simply spoken truths.

All I can say in my behalf is that I was caught off-guard. I might have been capable of responding more favorably had I had time to think things through. With this dearest friend of mine, who's always so well-spoken and eloquent, I experience moments of paranoia when thoughts of saying the wrong thing or having my meaning misinterpreted, flash through my first thoughts.

As evidence of my recent performance, even my most well-meaning of plans usually ends up backfiring, and as a cruel effect to my innocent cause, what I had tried so hard to avoid, happened.

As of today, it's been almost two weeks since I let him walk away and I completely agree with you: I've had plenty of time to think, or dwell rather, in practice. But I am bound by my performance and at this point, I'm unsure of the steps I should take to correct this gravest of grievances.

I can't sleep at the Station; I just can't. However exhausted I may be, there can be no rest for me here. I pulled myself onto the top bunk around two this morning after having assisted in the expulsion of a civilian woman, two minors and a number of dogs from a small, two-bedroom townhome on the poorer side of town. Needless to say, the home had been on fire, and by the time we had been notified, there was no chance of it being salvaged. It took around five hours to completely plug the fire and for the family to get the medical attention they needed. I'm not quite sure where the dogs went…

I haven't been able to sleep for weeks. Because of him.

* * *

"Well, it's about time you got a hold of me. We were expecting to hear from you weeks ago, after all those messages I left you…"

"Hello. How have you been?"

"How have I been? How have you been? I couldn't be better these days… oh well, I take that back… I'll be happy as a clown, pardon the pun Tro, as soon as I get everyone to agree to meet up. It's been too long, dontcha' think?"

"That's what I was calling about-"

"-I figured as much. I told Heero it was only a matter of time, didn't I? And here you are; so talk already!"

"What's the breakdown?"

"Always you guys with your breakdowns… you and Heero BOTH, I swear! Lucky you called when you did; you're almost too late seeing as how I scheduled it for next week; the weekend of the 18th-20th. Q called yesterday to confirm. I had figured on going on up to one of his family retreat cottages, but he said something about him losing access to the family estate… do you know anything about that? I suppose he could've just been playing nice… we did do some minor damage the last time we stayed at one of his places, remember that, Tro? I'm betting that Wufei still hasn't fully recovered from that! HA! Instead I've booked a place in the mountains where no one will notice if a few trees or buildings go missing, ya know? So how's bout' it, Trowa? You game?"

"I'll ask for the hours off at the station this afternoon."

"Awesome! I'll email you all of the finer details. I can't speak for Heero, but I sure as hell have missed the lot of ya! I'll catch ya later, Tro!" ::click::

Well, that had gone more smoothly than previously anticipated. Quatre no longer has access to his family's holdings? I wonder what that's about…

I put my bags of groceries on the counter. They'll keep while I take a shower, won't they? I really need one. It's been almost two days since my last one, but you know how it is. I've gone for longer before.

I peeled off the grimy layers of cloth and threw them in the second hamper. I just can't wash work clothes with my regular ones, or else everything will smell like smoke!

… I hope that didn't sound as gay to you as it did to me.

* * *

I think at this point in my shower, just as I was really loosening up and getting some nice mental visuals to aid my hand, I would have preferred the shark to the real thing. The theme from JAWS starting playing from inside my hamper, and I knew I had left my phone in my pocket. There's nothing like a phone call from your sister at the most inappropriate time to completely kill your mood.

Turning off the shower with a sigh, I dug the offending electronic out of the smelly depths of my hamper, compulsively swiped my thumb across the screen to push the oils into a clearer direction, and played the voicemail from my sister. They were always the same; commanding, pushy, somehow endearing (if you could get past the volume in which she spoke), and yet, while I truly do appreciate the efforts she makes to involve me in her life and involve herself in mine, I never know quite how to respond in a way that would make her understand, or that would appease her insatiable ideals. I knew that she wanted to clarify a few of the finer details about the latest tabloids… ugh, I really can't stand myself sometimes. I'm a mute. I'm a wall. I'm heartless to those who care enough to try and scale me, who strain to listen for anything less selfish than my silence. You would think, knowing this, I'd move to make something change. I'm paralyzed. By what, I don't know. … God, I really need to talk to him. Tell that to my mouth.

"You have reached Quatre Winner. I'm either with a client or away from my phone at the moment, but will be sure to return your call in the order it was received. Sorry for this inconvenience, and have a blessed day." _Beep._

Deep breath in. "I would like to talk to you… if you have time. Um, … bye." Exhale in loud, dramatic, guilt-ridden, schmuck-like manner. Promptly slam face into wall. Um, bye.

Needless to say, I was completely surprised when my phone rang at exactly 11:38PM. Answering was only accomplished through the bass drum resonating from my chest… there was no way he couldn't have heard that, right? "Hello Trowa." Shit! I really picked up the phone?

"Hello." One foot in front of the other.

"You wanted to speak with me?" He was fishing. I should probably respond.

"Yes." Yup.

He sighed deeply and I got the impression from the way the sound carried he was stretching his neck the way he does sometimes… eyes tight, brows pursed, lips open as he breaths out, head tilting first left, then right; his bangs sliding with the rotation; the whole effort in vain because it's never been able to relax him… "I apologize for the late hour. Should I call at a better time?" He was exhausted; in general, obviously, but with me? I would be.

"No." Sure.

"Right. Well… I am glad you called. … Was there something I could help you with?"

"No."… I should come up with something else… "I just wanted to talk." Would I be considered a hypocrite at this point?

"I see." He sighed again. "Forgive me, Trowa, but it's been a long day and my telepathy doesn't reach quite as far as it did this morning…" There was a slight smile in his words.

"You're going next weekend?" SUCCESS! Not only a sentence, but a sentence in the form of a question!

"I know I was skeptical about the idea at first, but after some thought, … I think it will be good to see everyone again. What do you think?" There's a slight nervousness lacing his fatigue.

I wish I could see him, but it's amazing just hearing his voice again after so long, even as depleted and deflated as he sounds at the moment. I should talk to him about more important things…

"I'm requesting time off tomorrow for it… Quatre,…" I don't know how to finish that.

"Hmmm?" I could imagine him rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"I _want_ to talk to you…"

He sighed thrice. "I know. We should. Perhaps in person?"

"Yes." A slight squeak from his chair meant he sat up straighter. "Alright, call me and let me know when?"

"I will."

"Goodnight, Trowa."

Sleep still would not come to me that night.

* * *

**Please let me know what you guys thought by reviewing! I can't wait to get to the reunion**


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